Some widgets have options that are only available when you get Core Membership.

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"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.

So simply put, it's a full photoset, a pack of every not garbage photo of any bondage shoot i do, so all the steps of the tying, all the variants, different gags, whatever. In my tighter forms of ropework, or with lots of tape. It'll depend on what i have to work with. (Which is a lot)

Now, these packs could have upwards of 100 photos in them, and that's why there's a $20 price-tag floating over them, but i'd be happy to do several different packs too, like a bunch of $10 ones as well for different say costumes or settings or whatever if you don't want everything.

The gym was a release, it was somewhere she stood, hounding her fists on the leathery exterior of punching bags, stretching biceps with each bench-press. Her caramel skin tensed with each squat, with each curl, with each heavy step on the treadmill, she eased her stresses and troubles away.

Time as a renowned martial artist and the issues that brought her in this world meant she spent many hours at the Rosswell gym. Hours she threw into training her body and sculpting a figure that seemed like it only could have been made by a deity.

She was tall, roughly six feet, her skin was a delicious caramel, lighter than most under the identification, but still retaining a darker sheen. Her form was naturally curvy. Her waist was thin, her hips were wide and her butt pronounced and firm. Her tits were equally well formed and firm, held up and cupped perfectly by the sports bra she wore. Her long black hair fell straight down her back with golden tips finishing the long waterfall of locks.

Dressed in excessively tight, purple yoga pants and a midriff bearing sports bra, she slammed her fists against the third of a line of three bags she’d broken. Sweat beaded around her hairline. A few loose strands dangled loosely down over her forehead, but the rest was kept back in a neat ponytail.

She slammed her glove covered fists against the bag ten more times and then caught it, letting the heat built up in her dissipate. She smiled, having finished another leg of her exercise and went over to the bench nearby. She dropped down into it and opened her sports bag. She pushed through the hoard of rope, tape and gags within to pull her water bottle out and downed half of the liquid within.

She checked the time on her smart-watch, 1pm, she’d been going since ten. A solid workout for the day.

“You could have told me you meant to be up before lunch” a bratty tone interrupted the Amazonian goddess’ reverie. She turned her eyes to the entrance to the large gym. She watched a chubby blonde, dressed in yoga pants and a singlet saunter in, followed by one someone she’d seen in here before. A bitchy, but dedicated short Asian girl.

She watched her trail tiresomely in after the blonde, “Jo. Everyone is up before midday” the shorter of the two said with so much irritation laced into her voice that the woman felt the sharp bite of her words from ten meters away.

It wasn’t her problem though. She capped her bottle and dropped it into her bag, she zipped it up and stood up. She slung the bag over her shoulders and walked towards the changerooms, passing the dup as they made their way to a weight set on the other side of the rather empty gym.

The caramel beauty strode past them without incident and into the changerooms. She threw her gloves down onto the bench and ran her hands through her hair, reaching for the hair tie holding hair mop of black up and pulled it out, letting her long black mane flow free. To the casual observer it looked more like she was in some hair product commercial, but it was simply the way she did things. As odd as it were.

She reached back down for her back and pulled a towel out of the side of it and wiped the sweat from her brow. She then took some spare clothes from it, slipping into another sports bra and a regular pair of black pants, just as tight as the last. She fluffed her hair out, took a moment to appreciate her still well-done makeup and left with bag over the shoulder once more.

As she left though, she heard an annoying voice shout her down. “Hey, you!” It came from the right, from the duo of women that had entered mere minutes ago. The shorter of the two was hailing her.

“Hello? Tall, dark and stupid? I’m calling you!” she shouted, louder this time, which got her attention.

“Excuse me?” She responded sharply, walking over purposefully and with a little agitation apparent in her step.

“Yeah, you heard me. You know where they have any more spare towels around here? This idiot already burnt through one. Don’t ask me how. Mind finding one for me?” the obnoxious brunette asked, clearly either not realising the anger in the other woman’s eyes, or not caring.

“No. I’m not going to go get you a towel, there aren’t even any spare ones. Find your own, or next time don’t bring the fat idiot along” the woman snapped back, the blonde had seemed to have cottoned onto the idea that they were talking about her now and she lifted from her spot on the bench, dropping the two paltry weights she’d been using.

“Hey, don’t you go talking about her like that. Only I can do that” the smallest of the three growled, standing up and striding up to the Amazon. She came about a half a foot from her, forcing herself to stare near directly up. Losing any threat she provided before then.

The tall woman scoffed, “what’re you gonna do about it? Scream at me from down there?”

“H-hey, Amy. I don’t think you should mess with her” the blonde interrupted, earning a spiteful gaze from the brunette and a slight giggle from the caramel skinned woman.

“You should listen to her.”

“Fuck you, and shut the fuck up Jo. This is none of your business” the Asian girl snapped, silencing the blonde and forcing a frown from the taller woman.

The tension escalated between the two women before the blonde interrupted again, her eyes locked on the bag of the taller of the two. “H-hey, Amy, I think she’s that Maria Vitoria chick from the TV. The martial arts tournament one” Jo interrupted again.

That seemed to bring some kind of reaction from the Asian, she threw an inquisitive glance to the blonde, who only pointed to the bag. The label on it seemed to confirm that.

Amy then looked up and the taller woman just smiled.

“So what? I can take her.”

That brought a wild laugh out from Maria. She stumbled back a bit, struggling to stay upright as the infectious roaring cackle she let out took over. “You could take me? Your chubby friend there has more sense than you it seems. Go back to working her over, you’re not worth my time” Maria scoffed and turned, but as she did, an iron grip wrapped around her wrist, although her hand wasn’t even large enough to wrap entirely around her forearm.

“You and me, let’s throw down right now” Amy demanded, seething as she did.

“If you’re so hellbent on it. Sure” the woman responded and dropped her bag, she pulled her gloves out from a side pocket and put them on. “follow me.” She didn’t wait for the brunette to do so before she walked straight to one of the three unoccupied rings in the Gym.

Maria was stunned, dumbfounded and downright shocked at how easy it was to outmanoeuvre the shorter girl. Speed was probably her strength against untrained imbeciles. It was probably how she got so jumped up on her own skills. However, Maria wasn’t an untrained amateur. She was born and raised in Brazil, learnt to fight on the street. Made it big in underground rings and got good at beating the ever-living hell out of bigger opponents because she was faster. Over the years she learnt to hit harder to accompany the fact that she already hit faster than most.

With the fight over and her challenger thoroughly dealt with. She dusted her hands off.

The Brunette was sat down atop a bench, legs spread into a perfect split and tied off as such with a mile of rope and tape keeping her fused with the exercise equipment. Her arms had been jammed up behind her back with her wrists crossed behind her neck in the most brutal reverse-prayer tie that Maria had ever placed someone in. Her elbows had been crushed together with dozens of loops of painfully strict ropes and a series of ludicrously tight crotch ropes had been fastened between her legs and up against the sides of her pelvis.

Her small chest had been freed of her singlet and then covered in agonisingly tight ropes. The base of each breast was noosed off by wire-thin cords wrapped around them a dozen times, her nipples had been crushed between a set of jagged metal clamps and her body had ultimately been nearly cocooned in an extra layer of tape.

Whilst she fumed and shouted mutedly into a dozen pairs of socks, a ballgag that looked like it was the size of a grapefruit and then her head had been encased in four roles of vetwrap. She was also only being kept upright by a single rope tied from her painfully wedged wrists to a piece of equipment above and behind her, so she was still having to fight to stay upright.

Her friend, the blonde was no better off either.

Maria had seen to it that whilst her friend had been suffering, she would at least get some work done. Thus, she was currently hobbling along on a treadmill at a brisk pace. Her shoes had been replaced by a ludicrously tall set of ballet heels that crushed her chubby calves. Her thighs had been ensnared by a dozen cable ties, further reinforced by even more coils of rope. She had suffered twice the amount of ropes around her crotch, her breasts also had a set of cable ties and elastic bands snapped shut around them, all to top off the already viciously tight chest harness that Maria had deemed her in need of.

Every coil of rope had been cinched to the absolute tightest, including the ones that led from the base of her breasts and to the two handle bars on the side of the treadmill. Her arms suffered no worse a fate either, tied with two dozen cable ties into one singular limb. Then further crushed together by more wire-like rope, then a layer of black bondage tape, then finished off with a painfully tight armbinder, which had the ring at the end of it tied to her crotch ropes before then being tied to the same roped holding her breast harness in a painful embrace. Forcing her arms out at a dreadful ninety-degree angle.

Maria admired the harsh ropework of the two ladies and gave a few extra squeezes on the pump gag jammed into the mouth of the blonde, forcing some pitiful quips from her.

“I do hope to see you two here again. For all your grand standing, you proved to be a great stress relief. Maybe we can do this again sometime” Maria stated with a warm smile uncharacteristically splitting her lips.

She then waved goodbye and left the two girls to suffer in the empty gym.

The reason why there were no others in the building was suddenly dawning on the two painfully bound ladies as they struggled. It also explained why there were no membership fees.

So simply put, it's a full photoset, a pack of every not garbage photo of any bondage shoot i do, so all the steps of the tying, all the variants, different gags, whatever. In my tighter forms of ropework, or with lots of tape. It'll depend on what i have to work with. (Which is a lot)

Now, these packs could have upwards of 100 photos in them, and that's why there's a $20 price-tag floating over them, but i'd be happy to do several different packs too, like a bunch of $10 ones as well for different say costumes or settings or whatever if you don't want everything.

The room was dreadfully bright, too many windows looking in allowed the sun as many avenues as it wanted to flood the space with vibrant rays. The Director’s office after all was no simple room at the back end of an FBI office. To be at his position meant you needed contacts, and contacts meant you got perks, his was having a grand building constructed to base all East Coast intelligence from.

Up in the North in Maine of all places sat a twenty-three storey, massive compound that was built for a thousand men and women to work tirelessly on every conceivable high-profile criminal case available. Field agents from the FBI, CIA, SEAL teams and DEA all worked out of there. Though it was primarily a hub space, meant to be a conduit for which all orders flow, many operations were handled directly from there, most notably, those that one specific agent, Ida Lawson conducted.

“Ida” the booming baritone of the Director began before the attractive officer could reorientate herself within the confines of the room. “It’s coming to my intention that your… records have been slipping.”

“Sir. I can explain!” She began in turn, her silky-smooth voice dripping from her lips, but it was silenced by a raised hand from the slightly chubby older man.

“I’ll have no excuses. You are not being fired. Simply relieved of duty until you have undergone extra training in a department you severely lack any skills in” he explained and leaned forth, edging closer to where the beautiful agent sat, forcing her to shift in her chair uncomfortably as every part of her revealing outfit dragged on her flesh under his gaze.

“W-what might that be sir?” She asked carefully.

He smiled and leaned back, “escape. You’ve got no issue infiltrating places, taking down a few guards, even taking out your target, but more often than not, you end up bound and gagged for the clean-up crew to find. The less we say on the Columbian case’s expenditure in finding you, the better.”

She kept silent, casting her sky-blue eyes down to her feet planted on the ground.

“Do you object?”

“N-no sir! Anything to improve my skills and be of service to my country and others!” she shot up from her seat and stood resolute, saluting the older man.

“Calm down agent, it’s simply a week-long exercise, simply rest up, have a couple days off and prepare for your handlers to arrive to get the training started, all of the details will be sent via email to you in an hour.” he said with a slim, business-like smile.

“Very well sir” she conceded and turned, striding out of the room with the director’s eyes planted firmly on her rear as it swayed from the room.

He smiled and soon his answering machine buzzed. He pressed a button on it and a voice chimed through, “your next appointment is here sir” the female voice on the other line announced.

“Send him up” the large man yawned.

Ida Lawson had timed her path from the entrance into the compound to the director’s office to take her five minutes and thirty-three seconds. Once she’d finished her scheduled appointment, it had taken her seven-minutes and eight seconds. The tardiness irked her, but for once she’d allowed herself to relax. She had been dismissed of work for over a week and it was her first time knowing how that felt in months. Turning her routine off was difficult.

Though one constant was that every step she took from the elevator to her rather chic sportscar was watched by careful eyes that lingered a touch too long on her narrow waist or wide hips, all accentuated by her fishnet tights, uniform that was a white leotard, styled like a blouse, with white cuffs and a white collar and a pair of tall stiletto ankle boots.

It was not the kind of uniform she would have deemed to have the highest chance of aiding in her success, but she understood it had… applications.

Her mind could be freed of any thoughts on that however as she slid into the sleek black jag she’d been ‘gifted’ by a client she’d saved before. It was state of the art and felt like it was fresh from a different millennium every time she dropped into the leather coated seats, it felt like every trip within it helped her discover a new feature for the vehicle. Each one growing ever more superfluous though.

The only benefit it gave her, was it went fast.

Her plethora of minor issues aside, she started the car up, pulled out of the underground garage beneath the main building of the compound and slowly wound up the ramp to the main gate where she waved to a black clad guard with ‘FBI’ boldly emblazoned on the back of his Kevlar vest.

She smiled and went on after he’d opened the gate for her and so she began her two-and-a-half-hour-long drive across two state borders and into Massachusetts.

Ida’s house was a large enough place, it sat outside a small town, built on a twelve-acre property and was two stories. It had every amenity she needed and every fortnight a state provided aide would come to her house with the essential supplies she required, being food, water and other beverages as well as any new clothing or gadgets she required for her line of work.

They’d come by during the day today it seemed as the pantry had been filled, her laundry had been done and the house’s overly-white interior had been cleaned spotless.

It was mildly disconcerting that such careful detail had been applied to her home when she’d never even seen the individuals who did it. They always came when she was away on a mission or at the bureau office or the director’s HQ.

Before she could settle into any work however, she had to check the details she was promised from the Director. She found her file on the training in her emails on her phone and thumbed through it, glossing over the contents of the training, it all being mostly about escaping various forms of restraint and undergoing training for certain torture situations, but all in all. It seemed rather Standard.

The ending of the message struck a chord with her though. The added statement of ‘expect them’ was eerie, but inconsequential. Of course, she’d expect them, she’d been given no details on a location to travel to, so she’d assumed that her trainers would deal with it all.

She didn’t expect them as early as they’d seemed to arrive however. Ida had just gotten to her bedroom and gone into her bathroom within to have a bath when she heard glass shatter. She was moments away from letting down the neat bun her hair was kept in, but she deemed the effort too much and went back out into the hallway. Her room being on the top floor meant she heard the intruders no matter how quiet they attempted to be.

The wooden staircase had been hollow for that reason. Maximising noise.

She didn’t expect to see three black clad men with pistols in hand though; but every fibre in her being that usually spun her mind to the worst possible situation had been switched to register the men as her trainers. She didn’t feel threatened by them, even as they stood, stunned at the top of the staircase with their eyes plastered to her impressive figure with all her weight placed on her right leg, cocking her hip and folding her arms under her small, but still firm and respectable bust.

The head of the trio strode forth purposefully and the other two held their pistols level with her chest. She didn’t move. She knew it was a losing situation.

The man who’d made his way over to her walked behind her and pulled something from his pocket. She knew the feel of a plastic cable tie when it was applied. It was one skill she’d wished she didn’t have to know, but was unfortunately painfully blessed with. The plastic was wrapped around her wrists snuggly after they were collected by the muscular man. He pulled it tight and she wheezed when the second plastic tie was fastened around her upper arms at the biceps. The addition of the second cable tie essentially fused her arms together behind her back in one single limb. She was about to protest the ethics of the training session when the man produced a massive red ball with a set of straps leading from both sides that he lodged deep within her mouth.

She wasn’t sure how he’d made it fit, nor was her jaw, but it certainly felt the fact that he had managed the seemingly monolithic feat. She grunted and groaned, now resolving to try and fight off his painfully tight bonds, but unable to stop him as he applied a third plastic restraint around her elbows, further meshing her two arms into one column of painfully squashed flesh and bone.

She squealed uselessly around the enormous ballgag was more of the cables were fastened around her legs, snapping tightly around her thighs, knees and calves, but stopping their painful progress down her legs halfway down her shins. Leaving her space to take only hobbled steps forth. Her captor returned to her front, looked her up and down and squeezed one of her painfully protruding breasts through her tight uniform.

She gargled indignantly at the treatment, but it didn’t stop him for a full minute before one of the trio of kidnappers cleared his throat and they all moved on without a word.

They filed into the back of a black canvas van. All four of them found a seat along the sides of the vehicle, but Ida’s comfort was the least of their concerns it seemed as she was shoved from the bench along the side of the van and pulled into a back arching hogtie with her booted feet pointing into her shoulders thanks to her ankles being tied to the bonds at her biceps.

She howled through the process of tying, but none of the men responded to her cries of discomfort, it seemed to only invigorate them even as she heard muted chuckles come through their thick woollen masks.

As much as it pained her physically, she could still reason that this was indeed all part of her new training. It was about escape after all and there’d be no point in her trainers going easy on her. Experience was the best teacher after all, except she didn’t expect the be taught about just how tight leather could be on a human when a ludicrously strict leather hood was dragged down over her gorgeous features and she was blinded.

An indiscriminate amount of time had passed before she felt the vehicle they were in come to a halt. She could’ve called it at an hour or seven, she’d lost count so many times that she’d given up after the third restart. Her captors had lost none of their secrecy however as she was bundled from the back of the van and carried like a piece of luggage by the connecting strap of her hogtie into the new locale.

She didn’t struggle in transit, knowing a fall would hurt, no matter what she was over.

There was no quick stop to their travel however, she found herself brought onto a hard surface and a short amount of struggle told her it was something made of wood, but she quickly discovered that there was a ledge to what she was on when she rolled onto her side and half her body lurched over the side of the surface she had been dumped upon.

“You’ve got us a real beauty this time” a feminine voice said in a congratulatory tone. A coy laugh permeated the air in response, but it ended quickly.

“It was your direction that got us her ma’am, the credit’s all yours. Not every day we get such a juicy morsel from the Fed channels” A smug Midwestern accented voice explained.

The woman accepted the compliment and soon Ida felt her delicate hand gliding over her pronounced form, feeling up her fishnet clad legs and climbing her slender fingers up her side until they came to rest on her soft cheek. The woman let a pleased huff go and her hand left.

“Get her nice and ready for me” she said and heeled footfalls clacked away and a heavy door slammed shut.

Ida’s hood was peeled off unceremoniously, her captors seemed surprised to not see her hair in an explosive mess of strands, but instead as neat and well maintained as if she’d just done it up. That surprise faded away quickly though with the resumption of their earlier work. Her hogtie was released and everywhere a cable tie had been, rope was soon tightly cinched around it.

Care for her comfort had been tossed out the window and after hearing the words of the woman, her belief in the identity of her captors was slipping by the moment, especially as her wrists were dragged up her back until her arms stood out at a ninety-degree angle with her elbows protruding out at a painful angle. She was forced to maintain the position with a few quick and devastatingly tight twists of thin hemp rope around her waist and around her shoulders.

A hastily constructed, but severely effective chest-harness was soon applied to her body, sending ropes above and below her bulging bust as well as several lines between her breasts, forcing the buttons on her outfit to their max, but not quite exceeding it. Every rope was tightened to the extreme and her eyes were watering as she drooled uncontrollably around the gag as she groaned and moaned in pain. The hogtied returned now, after a dozen new lines of ropes were applied to her legs, ensuring that there was a line of rope every inch up her supple legs.

The new hogtie was a touch more inventive, leaving her propped up on the table on her kneecaps, forced to balance upon them as her ankles were wrenched up over her elbows and tied to the ropes around the nape of her neck. It was all tightened to an extent she couldn’t take and then some. She writhed fruitlessly in her body’s, bucked a moment, but the hands of her captors remained even as she looked on with water-logged eyes. They weren’t quite done.

Ida felt the hands fade away, but she was still upright. She twisted her head up to get a blurry view of her predicament and found her hogtie had been added to a crossbeam about a meter above where she was wobbling about on her knees. Now that would have been enough for her to decide to just give up on the balancing act, but the devious nature of her captors came into perspective for the poor damsel when they’d returned with a set of jagged metal clamps.

The bald and scarred man before her wore a wicked grin as he opened her blouse. He pulled the fabric out from under the ropes binding her to reveal her breasts; pert and pained by the tight bonds surrounding them. He was about to make them hurt a whole lot more however with the two clamps being snapped shut around her two pink and erect nipples. She howled and the drool dripped from around her gag and down from her chin and onto the wooden desk. He smiled as he led a chain between the two and pulled it up to meet a thin dangling chord of hemp.

She looked at him in confusion and he grinned even wider as he tied the thin rope into the chain connecting her two agonizingly painful nipple clamps. Her attention then snapped up and then down to meet his eyes. She shook her head rapidly from side to side, but he nodded slowly and tugged on the rope quickly, sending a surge of crackling sparks of pain through her breasts and up her body. She jolted with a squeal and he relented.

“You stay here for an hour. Get to know your new place in life” he commented and patted her on the head.

They didn’t lie when they promised her an hour of this hell. She’d had enough time to count the cracks in the wall, the rivets in the table, the different strands of rope coating her flesh. There wasn’t all that much to count unfortunately, thus her mind danced over the many possible outcomes of her prolonged stay here, the many different twists of fate it might lap at her. The painful clamps added a decidedly less beneficial idea of her future to her, but that was one path she’d managed to block at least.

Though her self-imposed mental fatigue had been halted by the entrance of a woman. She was slender, beautiful, had hair as dark as pitch and wore a stunningly beautiful and form fitting black gown that hung from her every curve and dangled the very idea of her beauty before the eyes of the beholder.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so thoroughly ensnared by the painful bite of hemp, she might have had the time to admire what was so captivatingly beautiful about the woman, but alas, she was still too enthralled in the pain of her bondage to truly move on from her current situation. The stunning woman aided her in the process however as she strode behind the dangling damsel and swatted her on her pronounced rear. It was a sharp and stinging pain that dragged a scream from behind the massive red orb occupying her lips and it wasn’t the only strike. Four more accompanied it and as she rocked about, writhing, screeching and crying for reprieve, the woman only seemed to further delight in the situation.

Though she was a woman and as much as she revelled in her plaything’s suffering, she knew the paint hat the clamps would be causing for her, so she removed them to the wheezed thanks of her captive. She then unhooked her from the ceiling and let her down onto the surface of the table. Leaving her throbbing tits balancing tenuously above the wood as the hogtie kept her arched up still.

“This is just a momentary reprieve” the woman stated as the hogtie whipped free and she flopped down, half of her body hanging over the edges of the bench. The woman did nothing else to lessen the physical toll the bondage had been taking on Ida after that. A couple of extra swats to her rear reinforced that notion.

“I own you now” she said in her sultry and silky voice. She sat before Ida, in a chair that she’d dragged over from the side of the room and she folded one slim leg over the other. “It’s nothing personal, not about your work or anything. I just wanted someone with the curves and the looks of you. I wanted to torment someone so... striking.” Her words dripped from honey soaked lips and the woman grinned as Ida’s fate dawned on her.

“Don’t worry. You’ll come to love it… in time” she admitted and got up, walking over to the opposite end of the room and returning with several new items. Some ropes were dropped by Ida’s face and a long metal bar was produced. Ida felt her legs soon freed up and then she was dragged down so she was forced to stand on shaky legs, but was then bent over.

With her rear thrust up against her captor’s, she whimpered, but not before she let out a series of panicked moans as a network of ropes were looped around her hips and between her legs, pressing up against her sex and drawing some unwanted responses from the captive.

Ida struggled hard now, but she had no fight left in her beleaguered body. The ropes came faster than she could’ve hoped to fight off and the bar was soon put into play. Each ankle had been tied to a different end of the metal item and she’d found out what it felt like to have a meter-long bar forcing her legs apart. It was an exceptionally uncomfortable position, especially as her captor snaked a series of crisscrossing ropes up her calves and thighs that attached to nothing and served only to constrict her fishnet clad legs.

Ropes looped around her knees and then around the legs of the table and then some were wrapped around her waist and the tabletop, forcing her to stay planted down upon the wooden surface, which she had to bend down slightly passed the point of being parallel to the ground to maintain. It wasn’t a particularly difficult position, but the stress quickly mounted as her choice of footwear was coming back to haunt her.

Her arms were the new source of painful suspension this time, as more strict cords were snaked around her elbows and dragged high up overhead to the same hooks as before, forcing her body up from the table, creating an agonisingly painful battle between several points of her body as she was dragged in all directions.

The final demoralizingly tight touch to the whole ordeal was that the woman had paid extra attention to her tits now, looping excessively thing wire-like ropes around the base of each of her breasts and the knots were then tied off to the far end of the wooden table, creating a final and the most painful point of tension she was to be pulled in.

“And now the fun begins” the woman announced with the whistling of something against the wind. The impact sent a scream through Ida’s gagged lips and she howled out in agony as the flat wooden board connected with her butt. She growled uselessly and felt tears stinging at her eyes as the ropes dragged on her flesh and her rear erupted with a roaring, burning pain.

Another violently painful strike was delivered by her new master and the same response was given. The third strike had a much more measured response as the numbness had already started to set in for her, but Ida still was writhing at the tenth impact.

The woman’s words from before began to ring hollowly in her mind after, “you’ll come to enjoy it”, it was a sickeningly foreboding reminder for her as another strike connected with her pronounced rear and she slumped in her ropes with a whine.